


Silk

by ThisIsArt (ToHoldForever)



Series: Dreamy One-shots [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not too angsty, Pining, Sad with a Happy Ending, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Unrequited Love, Why Did I Write This?, not as dreamy as you thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 02:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToHoldForever/pseuds/ThisIsArt
Summary: "Akira stared at the mirror one morning, tugging at the band around his neck.It’s a fine piece; it’s silky, a startling mirage blue hue with white, intricate patterns dancing along. It’s like a second skin to him — it’s firm and strong, but it almost feels like nothing is there, which amazes the child. He fingers it, feeling the smooth fabric under his skin, admiring it. It’s… beautiful. It’s probably worth a fortune, but it’s priceless to Akira."AU In which you find your soulmate through a band around your neck by matching. Canon compliant but with this added twist into it. Not as wonderful as it seems.





	Silk

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so it's my birthday tomorrow! Well, technically it's today because I was born in Asia, but hooray, it's today or tomorrow! 
> 
> I was kind of iffy on releasing this... while I'm slightly proud of it, a part of me was still dubious about the quality of my work, especially since I'm all up for fluff, but then I write something angsty. It's my first time writing something revolved around angst itself, so do forgive me. I was writing this with the intent of a fluffy, doki-doki romance — but then, I didn't want it to be the ordinary soulmates thing. Originally, Akira was going to be paired off with someone from the Phantom Thieves, but I thought that would be... too much. 
> 
> That being said, this story deals with the same issues as the original game, such as Shiho's suicide. I warned you, but it's not too big.
> 
> So here it is: diluted but still angsty. Enjoy!

Akira stared at the mirror one morning, tugging at the band around his neck.

It’s a fine piece; it’s silky, a startling mirage blue hue with white, intricate patterns dancing along. It’s like a second skin to him — it’s firm and strong, but it almost feels like nothing is there, which amazed the child. He fingered it, feeling the smooth fabric under his skin, admiring it. It’s… beautiful. It’s probably worth a fortune, but it was priceless to Akira.

As he ogled at the newfound cloth, he flinched at a couple of knocks on the door. He exclaimed, “coming!” after finally coming back to Earth, and sprinted towards the entrance with an extra spring to his step. He opened it, his mother standing behind it.

“Akira…” she began, before a gasp came out of her after seeing the new band. Her eyes widened, her pupils dilated as she covered her mouth with a hand. She’s stunned into silence as Akira smiled proudly. His parents also had a band around their neck, which he wondered why she never took off. Hers was strikingly red and soft, simplistic but with a certain flare to it, and the boy loved it as much as his own mother does. Now that he had his own, there’s no need to pester his mother to have something like it.

When his mother came back from shock, a wide, warm smile blossomed on her lips and she kneeled down in front of him. She stared at it for a few moments more, Akira staying silent as she took in the sight with a gulp — apparent through the motion in her throat. She reached out hesitantly, looking up to her son for consent. Akira nodded solemnly, and she looked back down, before finally touching it. She rubbed her thumb back and forth across the material, engrossed in the sensation. Akira saw his mother’s eyes growing damp with fresh tears.

“Mom, why are you crying?” he asked with a frown, but his mom was smiling with tears on her profile. She looked up to him.

“Oh, Akira… I’m so happy for you,” she whispered, before tugging him into an embrace. He’s enveloped by his mom’s elegant, fair arms which radiate warmth and pride and joy throughout. Akira hugged her back with equal eagerness as she sniffled into his small shoulder. She pulled away slightly, just enough to look at her son. “Whoever she is… she’s going to be beautiful. Perfect for you. I just know it.”

He smiled back, even though he didn't know what she was talking about. Whatever it was, it’s a good thing.

  
  


 

In fifth grade, Akira learned the true meaning of the cloth around his neck.

“64% of the population has bands around their neck,” his teacher explained to the class, and he not-so-secretly tugged at his own with a certain pride. Akira thought to himself that the teacher has a funny one; it’s childish, very much so, with happy smiles as patterns across the white background. “Your destined one will have a matching band around their necks to signify that they are, indeed, yours. It will appear the morning after you really wanted one, starting at age seven.”

An outbreak of murmur came from the class; some kids didn't have any, others had ordinary ones, and a lucky few had fanciful bands around their necks. Akira was one of the lucky ones. Some of his peers gazed at his with envy.

“Now, some of us are late bloomers; we might not have the bands until later, and though unusual, it might occur very late in our times, because some people didn't want any until...” the teacher trailed off, and it sounded like he’s talking about himself. “However, I know you are all special tykes, and you will find someone who will fit you in every way possible.”

Akira stopped believing in perfection at third grade; when his father had passed away through an ailment, his mother’s band had faded in color and threads coming out of it. It didn’t look as magnificent as it did before the tragedy. She could barely eat or sleep, but she would always endure for Akira. His mother worked late hours to support herself and Akira without her husband, and it proved a difficulty for the family. So the whole  _ soulmates  _ kind of prospect just seemed so farfetched, a fairytale. 

Yet, he couldn't stop hoping, even though what he had seen his mother go through was terrible.

When the class was dismissed, he was stopped by the teacher, who commented, “your band is very pretty, Akira. You must have a wonderful partner.”

Akira only stretched a smile across his face and headed out.

 

 

 

In eighth grade, he learned that bands could kill.

Akira’s classmate’s father had died via heartbreak from his spouse’s death in a car crash, which made it doubly harder on his classmate. She was a nice girl, that one. It was a shame, and a grim reminder of how the band around their necks isn’t all what it cracked up to be. Akira suspected. Knew it wasn’t as romantic as they all made it out to be.

The stronger the band, they said, the more dangerous the effects could be from the death of your destined. Some people died before they even met each other; many others never even met who would be perfect in their lives. Akira knew it would be too much if everyone could be led to their partners and be happy, but it didn’t work that way. It would just make people miserable. The prospect that you might never find the one person who would fit you the most persuaded many to succumb to fragile marriages, flings and one night stands, and short-term relationships.

Akira’s mother was one of the fortunate 20% of the population — nearly a third of those who actually has a fabric wrapped in their necks. At least, his mother never died from suffocation of the one thing that led her to happiness and then grief. He knew she had a strong band, a very strong and inseparable one — but it seemed her will to support Akira had overpowered it, even as it seemed to tear at the seams, threads a wild curl.

They say the bands are indestructible — unless the person themselves took it off. There is no way to take it off through orthodox means, it was wound too tightly around your neck to take it off; you’d have to cut it, or some other ways. However, nobody could do it. If they did, it would kill the other person with the same band. Their destined. Their beloved. So nobody deigned to cut it. There have been some cases, but usually, nobody wanted to.

Akira looked into the mirror, hopelessly touching it.  
  
  


 

 

Akira was arrested.

He didn’t do anything wrong; he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Some drunken man was harassing a woman, and Akira was arrested for assault — when the man had tripped and fell and blamed it on him.

He was in his second year of high school; he went about his business normally, studied regularly and was an all-around ordinary student with an especially marvelous band around his neck. Yet, there he was, in the courtroom, sentenced to transferring to Shujin Academy which was the only school that would take him with the glaring discrepancy on his record.

His mother had been devastated; wept and blamed herself, and Akira hugged her and comforted her for a long time. His shoulder would become thoroughly wet, his mother sobbing and losing her voice from doing it for a prolonged duration — and they would just kneel and cling onto each other.

Shujin Academy was far from home; they would have to prepare living arrangements for the high school student.

“I have an acquaintance at Yongen-Jaya,” his mother explained after sniffling. “He might help.”  
  
  


 

 

He stayed in an attic.

Sojiro Sakura was the owner of a quaint cafe called LeBlanc, a small establishment void of customers — though you shouldn’t tell him that — and an attic set aside for him. Akira doesn’t mind, really; he wouldn’t complain as long as he had somewhere to stay

He tried to keep in contact with his mother, he really did, but his mother rarely responded back, since she subjected herself to hours and hours of work, drowning in it. When she did, though, it would be at length and eager and loving, and that was enough for the student.

At times like these, he touched his band; while Akira maintained cynicism towards it, it provided him comfort, easing his worries. There was someone out there who would take him, even with the hole in his permanent record -- someone who would take an ordinary-looking guy like him. It didn’t matter if it was a girl or a guy. There was someone out there.

He tightened his grip on the cloth.  
  
  


 

 

He earned friends.

He met Ryuji Sakamoto first; he initially found him a little too…  _ much  _ for his tastes, but his continued exposure and brightness had mollified the student, and he was willing to take any ally he could get in a school which shunned him.

While he was foul-mouthed, spoke too loudly and confidently and acted on impulses, sometimes coming on too strong and rough, he had good intentions. Ryuji was like a little ball of sunshine, and it was refreshing to Akira.

Ryuji’s band was bright and colorful; it was a mix of warm colors, yellow and orange and red in a beautiful mix together. The patterns include an array of items, but on the front of was a distinct skull. Akira didn’t know why, but he learned not to question the bands.

After a series of events, he met Morgana, a weird talking cat, and explored the Metaverse — Kamoshida’s Palace, and fought Shadows through it to get to the treasure.

Then, he met Ann Takamaki. She was a gorgeous, if unpopular student in Akira’s grade who seemed to attract the attention of a certain teacher, and she’s occasionally seen with another student — which undoubtedly had the same band as her. It was a gradient of pink and red, white polka dots and made of satin.

Akira had only met her twice before he heard about the incident of her friend’s — her destined’s attempt at suicide. It had affected her drastically, and Akira expected her to grieve and suffocate from the strong band, but instead, she endured the grief and shock, and felt enraged at Kamoshida. Shiho didn’t die, which meant it didn’t affect her as much as it should, but Akira shuddered thinking what would happen if her attempts succeeded.

Then, at some point, she came along, and the trio defeated Kamoshida, taking the treasure and fleeing from the collapsing palace.

Kamoshida then confesses. Akira didn’t know if there was anyone who cared about him — at least,  _ cared  _ cared. He was unsure. He didn’t see a band around his neck...

  
  
  


“You’re the woman I’ve been searching for all this time! Please, won’t you—”

“W-Wait a minute, I—”

“—Be the model for my next art piece?”

And then, Akira met Yusuke Kitagawa.

While riding on the train with his newfound companions, Ann felt like she was being followed — and so she was by an eccentric art apprentice who they had horribly mistaken.

Yusuke was under the tutelage of a renowned Ichiryusai Madarame; he’s shown significant skills in his craft, even when his  _ sensei  _ told him otherwise. He was incredibly quirky, like Akira suspected of every artist out there.

At first, he didn’t know what to make out of Yusuke; initially, there wasn’t a lot of reasons to talk to him. He was only interested in Ann — and only in terms of painting her, really. He was also a means to getting the dirt on Madarame. But Akira didn’t hate him. Just didn’t know what to think of him.

And then they dragged him into Madarame's heart, awakened his Potential, and now they were a group of four misfits and one cat.

Akira sought to deepen relations with the artist; he had spent a sufficient amount of time with the others already, and Yusuke had shown no signs of getting very close with the others personally, so he took the liberty of hanging out with him.

Together, they hunted for artistic inspiration, mainly Akira tagging along for the ride as hilarity ensued. He was a source of endless entertainment and intellectual stimulation, and Akira was convinced he would never get tired of it.

And he was a friend, just a friend, the black-haired boy concluded as he saw the nonexistent band around the artist's neck. It would be fine. It wasn't meant to be. He didn't even know why he thought about it.

Yet he found himself staring at the absence of a colored cloth around Yusuke's neck. The thought of that bothered Akira more than he would like.

He slept with a hand on the blue fabric.  
  
  


 

And then time passed. New additions to the team were made, a passing prince detective, multiple palaces and shooting deities in the head. 

And then they were back to their normal lives.

It wouldn't ever be the same, of course; he had his friends now, who he would spend time with, and reinforced relations with those around him. He wasn't… alone. Not anymore.

Yet, there was an empty feeling in his stomach as day by day, he tugged at the fabric more often. Ryuji, Mishima, and Yusuke were still pitifully (and thankfully) single, while the girls had gotten theirs with not much problem, except Makoto who said she had too much work to tend to.

His lack of any status, though, allowed him to spend as much time with anyone as he wishes without restraint or an obligation to text them a hundred times a day. There were times where he wished he was, but being with his friends was great too.

It wouldn't erase some of the feelings of loneliness, though, not completely. And the absence of any cloth around Yusuke's neck still bothered him. 

He didn't know why; he shouldn't care about it. Perhaps he was aromantic or asexual, and he was more interested in the intimacy with paintings than with people. And it shouldn't bug him. Not at all. 

Yet a part of him pricked for answers, wanted it. He couldn't just ask him straight up his orientation, even though that might be a Ryuji thing to do, perhaps a Yusuke one as well. That was some comfort. Then again, the basis of comparison wasn't particularly impressive, either, so he wouldn't base all of his experiences on… them.

And his feelings wouldn't evolve until one day.

“Today, I shall paint you,” Yusuke declared. “I just need you to sit there and stay still, at any cost. Bring what you like.”

It was a sudden declaration, even for Yusuke. He would have warned him ahead of time, yet, he had not the heart to refuse him. The artist is virtually childishly excited about his artistic endeavors, and to deny him of such would be harsh -- cruel. And so with a renewed resolve, he complied and brought out a stool and an old telly to the attic, where Yusuke “wanted to paint him in his natural habitat” (quote unquote). 

And the day went on for painful minutes that were like hours, and he was stuck watching a cheesy soap opera. In some ways, it was entertaining anyhow. What mattered was that Yusuke seemed cheerful as his hands danced across his canvas enthusiastically.

“Yes, it is all coming to me! I can feel the artistic brilliance seeping into my bloodstream… this is absolutely perfect, Akira,” he says with a degree of gentleness. “Thank you.”

Akira smiled. “What are friends for?” And he looked back up to the television, careful not to move a muscle.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Akira asks, “what's the painting for?”

Yusuke looked at him pointedly. “Wouldn't it be obvious?” He shook his head. “No matter. You will see at the end.”

Akira didn't argue with him, simply sighed in resignation and returned to almost shaking with laughter from the cheesiness of the show.

After several more episodes, Yusuke exclaimed, “the deed has been done!”

Akira finally jumped from his seat and began stretching, his muscles screaming relief and the tenseness of his body easing away gradually. Finally, he grinned up at Yusuke. “Okay, you  _ have _ to tell me.”

Yusuke smiled, and almost looked bashful -- what for? He nodded and took hold of his canvas. “Behold!” He picked it up and turned it around for Akira to see. His face spelled pride and satisfaction as he took in Akira’s reaction.

The canvas showed what Akira expected -- him sitting in a stool. But there was more than that. His face is crinkled with mirth; there were careful, attentive details to all parts of him, such as the missing second button from his uniform and the nearly unnoticeable scar on his face. He was almost portrayed dreamy-like, the colors bright and mystical, and Akira thought he wasn't mystical at all. 

Yet, the painting on the canvas wasn't as beautiful as the words Yusuke uttered next.

“I have always wanted to paint your smile, Akira,” Yusuke tells him. “And not the confident grin you don't at times -- that would be for another day -- but the sincere one you show to everyone you care about. I always thought it was beautiful, and I thought the smiles are just as magnificent as the one giving them.” The artist looked up and caught his gaze. “You've… always assisted me, been there for me, and I could never express my gratitude. You… The Phantom Thieves… saved my life from eternal imprisonment. I don't know how I will ever repay my debt. But I thought… I thought this would be a good way to convey my feelings. There was so much more I wanted to say, but this is how I feel about everyone and you. Thank you, Akira.”

Akira's heart clenched at those words, at the painting and the most fondest expression written on the artist's face. How could he deserve all this? He was a delinquent, a boy who was shunned at school, ordinary looking. He didn't deserve any of this.

Yet he wanted it.

Akira wanted to pull Yusuke into an embrace and never let go. He wanted to tell him that he's thankful for him and so much more, _ so much more.  _

But there was the nagging thoughts in the back of his mind. His eyes drift down to Yusuke's neck, and his heart plummeted. 

There was still nothing there. Akira still had a blue fabric, and it wasn't for him. It wasn't for him.

To go ahead and try to be with Yusuke was like betraying the band around his neck who screamed at him, screamed at him that he couldn't do this to his partner, his destined. He couldn't be selfish. He couldn't possibly be so selfish as to forget them for someone else.

He only smiled at Yusuke and thanked him.  
  
  


 

Akira wouldn’t suddenly avoid Yusuke, though. He would still go about life as usual, spending the same amount of time with all of his friends, with some acquaintances outside of the Phantom Thieves, and working as an apprentice under Sojiro’s supervision. 

Almost everyone in the Phantom Thieves had an interesting band — Futaba wore a geometrical-patterned one of hexagons, green on black. Haru’s was flowery. Makoto’s were shades of black, white, and gray. Morgana didn’t have any as a cat, though it would make sense if it was in a form of a collar. So forth.

The only one with a distinct absence is Yusuke, possessing a bare and open neck. He never really brought it up, and if a nosy individual asked, he would say he had never really thought about it. Madarame didn’t have one, and he was never really educated about it. Yusuke felt as if he didn’t really need it, though.

At least, that’s what he said.

  
  
  


One day, Yusuke came to LeBlanc’s doorstep during a rain.

“I’m sorry for intruding, but… I wanted some company, if you don’t mind.”

“No, of course I don’t, come in,” Akira insisted, and fortunately, Sojiro went out for the day before he could chastise all the rainwater he would spill on the floor. The boy would have to clean up after this. “Wait here,” he told him, halting him on the mat, and then disappearing to grab a towel for him.

“Thank you,” Yusuke whispered, his voice barely audible as he started to wipe himself off. Something didn’t quite sit well with Akira as he surveyed Yusuke’s status. There was a substantial drop to his shoulders, the artist couldn’t stop staring at the floor, and a gloomy aura threatened anyone near him.

There wasn’t much point in asking him if he was okay, and led him upstairs, where he set him down on the sofa as Akira himself sat on his bed, watching the artist carefully for any clues or hints. When silence only permeated, he excused himself downstairs to make coffee. He came back up with two steaming mugs, and Yusuke briefly thanked him as he held it. He didn’t show signs of interest in it.

Finally, Yusuke lifted his head, but he hasn’t looked at him eye-to-eye, only watched the rain hitting the window. “I don’t know why I was feeling down all of a sudden,” Yusuke said. “I just…”

“We have days like that,” Akira reassured.

“Yes, well… that’s one of those days,” he answered with a sigh. “Do you mind if I… talk to you about it?”   


“By all means, go ahead.”

Yusuke smiled at him, but it was fleeting, and Akira wished it wasn’t gone so soon. “It’s kind of silly, actually… it’s about the — the bands,” he began, shaking his head. “I know. I know. But… I just started thinking about it. People often came to me about my state, inquiring about my lack of a band, and I… didn’t really know. Didn’t know if there — was there… no one for me?” He quickly added, “I don’t mean to say I am not content with everyone — it’s more than I deserve — but the thought that there was no such person on Earth to put me as first place in their lives… haunts me.”

There was the familiar stab in Akira’s chest again, looking at the miserable artist who thought he could not be loved by anybody and be the most important person in their life. That wasn’t true. That wasn’t true at all. In fact, it would be scandalous if somebody didn’t find him likeable. Absolutely ridiculous.

“You’re wrong,” Akira told him, catching the bluenette by surprise. “You’re wrong. You don’t need the band — or lack of it — telling you that you cannot be loved. You are loved by your friends. There are many people who care about you.  _ I  _ care about you. I promise.”

“And, pray tell, is there someone who prioritizes me, Akira?” Yusuke retorts. “Tell me. Is there someone who would choose me over someone else that they think is important?”

For the first time, he made eye contact with Akira. His face is filled with uncertainty, irritation, and pain. He hadn’t seen it in him since Madarame, his long time mentor who had betrayed him. It absolutely tore him apart. He just wanted Yusuke, as with all of his friends, to lead happy lives from this day on.

“I would.”

Yusuke’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to lie to me, Akira. It’s rather insulting.”

He shook his head. “No. Yusuke, I mean it. You’re important to me. You’re important to the Phantom Thieves. If somebody asked me who I would choose to hang out with first and foremost, that would be you, Yusuke. If somebody asked me who to take on a deserted island, it would definitely not be you, because I wouldn’t drag you into my misery.” Akira huffed out a laugh. “If somebody asked me who would you want to be with, it would be you.”

He covered his mouth as soon as the words left his mouth, hoping Yusuke didn’t catch that one sentence. Yet, he visibly flinched and looked at him with widened eyes. He messed up. He didn’t mean to admit something so sensitive to him. He messed up.

“Akira…”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I just — it was the spur of the moment,” Akira amended quickly. “I mean—”

“Akira.”

“— yeah you’re pretty important to me, you’re a great friend! And —”

“Akira, please.” Said male duly stops talking. Yusuke takes a deep breath, before fixing his gaze on him. “Did you… did you mean it?”

Akira didn’t know if he should admit it. It would be painfully obvious that he did by now, but at least he had one more chance for Yusuke to give him the benefit of a doubt. For everything to just go back the way it was and everything would be wonderful.

But he was far too greedy.

“... Yes.”

They just sat there, looking at their shoes and listening to the rain outside. And what then? What would happen now? Would they just go on about their merry way? Akira didn’t know. What happens next?

“I… think I return your sentiments,” Yusuke admitted, but his eyes lingered on the band around Akira’s neck which almost feels like it’s suffocating him. “... but your…”

“I know,” Akira said, closing his eyes. “I know. It’s okay.” The artist seemed at a loss for words, not knowing how to convey his message. His face is now in a mix of relief, guilt, and confusion. Not a very good mix. The raven-haired boy only sighed and reached for Yusuke’s hand, which pressed against his own. It was very cold, and he was happy to warm it. “Don’t feel guilty about it. We’ll work it out.” His words sound as if he was confident it could. He wasn’t so much in reality, but he wanted to try. He wanted to try for him.

“Okay,” Yusuke merely replies, and squeezes his hand. “Okay.”

  
  
  


The next morning, Sojiro called Akira down in a strangely shaky voice, and concerned, the male obliged. He first dressed himself, prepared his things and headed downstairs to answer Sojiro’s calls.

“Soji-” Akira began, before looking up.

Yusuke was there, with his regular Kosei High uniform — which was highly tempting, Akira could now confess. There was something off about him, though, something that wasn’t right. He had the same hairstyle, the usual clothes. No new accessories, except…

His eyes drifted to the last place he expected something different there to be — his neck.

It’s made out of silk, a mirage blue hue with curly patterns adorning it. It’s wrapped around his neck tightly, but it didn’t seem to bother the artist at all. Like a perfect fit. Smooth in appearance. Wonderful. Beautiful.

It’s the same as his. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're confused why, read this:
> 
> The band didn't come out of the blue (no pun intended). The way the bands worked as that it appeared the morning after you really wanted one, starting at age seven. Since Yusuke was oblivious to the prospect of one for most of his life, especially since Madarame didn't have one, he never really desired it in return (even after he learned). He had friends and that's all that mattered to him.
> 
> Due to his lack of knowledge of the bands, other than the fact that it was used to signify if someone was meant to be with you or not, he thought those without one simply didn't have anyone for them. Akira probably forgot this because he learned it in fifth grade. And then that one day he started thinking about it, and the next morning, he finally had it.
> 
> The bands are like the _presencing_ in computer terms — it works so that even if someone might match you, if they aren't looking for a relationship, then it won't appear. 
> 
> ===
> 
> That about wraps it up. If you're confused about any other aspects of the story which I didn't wrap up or tie in well, then let me know your questions!
> 
> And... thanks for reading! ❤︎


End file.
